


A Sharper Edge of Love

by queenofkadara



Series: Banal'halam: Solas & Elia Lavellan [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Cole becomes a spirit, Cole doesn't understand relationships, Cole wants to help, F/M, Heartbreak, Or maybe he understands them better than anyone, POV Cole
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-18 23:40:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14224350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofkadara/pseuds/queenofkadara
Summary: Cole drifts through the halls of Skyhold, watching and waiting, healing little hurts before they collapse into chasms.When Solas leaves Elia Lavellan without a word of goodbye, Cole begins to realize there are some hurts too deep to heal.





	A Sharper Edge of Love

**Author's Note:**

> A couple of notes on this humble contribution:
> 
> 1\. This is written in first-person from Cole's POV. He's such a very unique voice, so I can only pray to Fen'Harel himself that I got him right... O_o  
> 2\. Some of the dialogue here is canon. You guys will probably recognize which bits.  
> 3\. The track I listened to on loop while writing this: [Vor í Vaglaskógi by Kaleo. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Da5qQD_RpEQ)

She curls on the couch, face stained with sorrow. Shadows shiver over shining tears. She was his heart, but he beats without her now.

“They’ve earned this celebration,” she whispers. “I really don’t know how Josephine pulled it together so fast. Let them be happy. I don’t want them to worry…”

I stand beside her, watching, waiting. She can be happy too. I can help. 

I reach out. Her eyes open. Tears trickle down, trailing rivers on her cheeks. 

***************

 **One year earlier…**

“Hello, Cole.” 

“Hands on her waist. He pulls her close. ‘Ar lath ma, vhenan,’ he says. Darkness drifts underneath, but flowers bloom just as bright.” I study her face. “You’re happy.” 

The Inquisitor smiles. Her cheeks turn pink, a flush flooding her face. “That’s personal, Cole,” she says lightly. “It's not polite to pry. But… yes, I am happy.” 

“That’s good,” I say. “Clouds clog the skies, drifting over soldier’s hearts. A ray of light glows green through the grey, hope lifting high. Love polishes the glow.” 

Elia laughs. Her cheeks turn a brighter pink. “Well, I don’t know about that,” she mumbles. “It’s too soon to tell.”

That’s confusing; her thoughts seem clear. She’s fizzing, flying, filled with fondness. She thinks of his soft eyes, his softer lips, arrogant and brilliant and tender all at once. “When will you know?” I ask. “How long does it take?” 

“Oh, Cole. I can’t… it’s… I’ll tell you when I know, how about that?” Fingers twist together, she’s shy, giddy and glowing. She scratches the back of her neck and walks away. “Let’s speak later, all right?”

“Probably,” I say. I watch her leave. Her footsteps are light and free. It seems like she’s in love. But how do you know?

*********

I walk around the castle. I look and listen. I lift where their minds are heavy. I close circles, ending anguish where dreams press cold and cruel against the curtain. 

I help. 

Plums in my pockets: I’m pleased. I walk past the rotunda, but Solas’s thoughts call out, drawing me in. 

_Come now, concentrate. A lyrium infusion may be the key; the connection will be strengthened. If only the spirits could guide the way… but their avoidance of the Breach poses a problem right now._ He’s distracted, and suddenly I see what he sees: Elia’s palms on his chest, fingers clenched at the back of his neck. She straddles his lap. His mouth on her skin. Her need is desperate, but he wishes to take his time with her. He strokes her until her impatience bleeds into him like the sweat they share. _It’s been so very many years. I didn’t expect this. It complicates things. What to do…?_

He turns, and his brow clears. “Ah, Cole. This is fortuitous. Please come in. I’ve been meaning to speak with you.” He waves me closer. 

His face is cool, but his eyes are kind. He ushers me over to his chair and leans back against his desk.

“Cole, what brought you here? What made you decide to leave the Fade?” 

“There’s so much pain. I want to help,” I say.

He gazes at me silently for a moment, then unfolds his arms. “You crossed the Veil to help. Your purpose drove you forth, you say?”

I hesitate. “Perhaps. Probably? The pain calls to me. There must be a way. Elia said it’s good to try.” 

He smiles. “Ah, yes. The Lady Lavellan. I am pleased that she seems to understand your nature.” 

I nod. “I think she is my friend.”

He looks at me for a long time. Maybe he wants me to leave? But as I stand to go, he speaks again. “A Dalish elf who befriends spirits…” He shakes his head, but he’s smiling still. “A truly unusual woman indeed.” 

His voice is soft. I remember her thoughts, memories of lips and eyes and arrogance. “Solas, why is it complicated?” 

He frowns, so I explain. “Hips pressed hard and passionate: it’s been so long since he was surprised, but she more than surprises him. She steals his breath and his thoughts. But he shouldn’t have ceded. It will complicate matters in the end.” I watch him curiously. “She glows. You ignite her. Why is it complicated?”

 _There was no other way. I had to stop them. Everything is sundered, torn. It wasn’t meant to be this way, but now I have no choice._ I hear him clear, a howl of regret in the endless night-

“Cole, look at me.” His voice is a snap, pulling me back. I look at him in surprise. His eyes are intense and bright, glittering like ground glass. 

“Do not tell Elia of this,” he warns. _She can’t know. Nobody can know._ He sighs. “I’m afraid… This will weigh on your mind. Let me soothe the questions.” He reaches out.

I am confused, but he’s always been kind, his voice ringing with the fullness of both worlds. He touches my forehead. He guides me away from the darkness. 

Plums in my pockets: I’m pleased. He drops his hand and smiles. I wonder why a smile can be sad.

“Dareth shiral, Cole. We’ll speak again soon.”

I nod. I leave to find the little spiders. They need food, too. 

Perhaps I’ll find someone to help along the way.

****************

I drift through hallways, finding whispers before they become wails. A barrel offers shelter, and I bury daggers there. Pain pounding, piling high: a soldier’s time is near. I go to the kitchen and look for turnips.

I help.

I slip through the central hall when I hear his voice. “...centuries of knowledge, a compendium of memories, gone in an instant because of sheer ignorance! Attempting to _leash_ what they do not understand!” 

He calls himself pride, but today he is rage. Elia murmurs a response, too quiet to hear, but her thoughts are loud and bright. _I’m so sorry, Solas. I’m here. You’re not alone._

Anger. Hate. Grief. His thoughts are bitter as poison, and I want to help. I slip into the rotunda. He sits in his chair, face in his hands. She strokes his neck, whispers in his ear. He carries a shield that she cannot see, but her words sink soft, stabbing sweet into a sliver he didn’t know was there. 

I move closer. Now I hear her words. “I’d like to hear more about your spirit friend, if you’d like to tell me about it. What was it like?”

He breathes deeply. When he speaks, his voice is heavy, but the jagged edges have softened some. “It saw more memories than a thousand mortals could ever hope to keep. It loved dwarven tales the most. For some reason, the children of stone fascinated it more than any other mortal race.” 

He continues to speak. The poison leaches, pulling loose and languid, filling with a sweeter bitterness instead. Her hands stroke his skin. I can see the smoothness there, but I don’t understand the bitter. 

Suddenly Elia looks up: she sees me. The corners of her eyes crinkle, kind and caring. “It’s all right,” she whispers. She kisses his temple. 

I think she’s speaking to me. I believe her. The poison is fading, leaving softened sadness in its place.

She helps. It’s good enough for now. 

I leave. 

****************

“It’s just not what I expected. He can simply make himself forget what happened to the real Cole?”

“Yes, vhenan. It is the way of spirits. They don’t _feel_ emotions the way mortals do; they embody them. It is what makes them both pure and fragile.” 

“But I don’t want Cole to be _fragile_. I want him to be safe. I don’t want anyone to hurt him.”

They speak of me, but I can’t be hurt. The amulet pulses cool and calm, confidence made clear. 

I step into the room. “It’s all right, Elia. I am myself: floating free, easing little aches. I am safe.”

She turns to me. Her face is creased, worry wending from the wells of her eyes. “Oh, Cole… I didn’t mean to speak of you behind your back. I just… I don’t want you to forget the parts of your past that are important.” 

I’m not sure what she means. But Solas always has the answers, and I’m glad. “Spirits don’t have pasts the same way as you or I. They’re not bound by time’s forward march. They move through memories, not through the markings of the calendar. Cole will keep everything that best embodies his purpose.” 

“You think he’s most himself by forgetting what pulled him from the Fade in the first place?” Her voice is pointed and piercing, but gilded with guilt. _This is my fault,_ she thinks. I move closer. I can help. 

Solas frowns. “If you wanted Cole to be something other than he is, perhaps you should have followed Varric’s ill-guided suggestion.”

 _How dare you._ Loud, loaded, laced with ire: she’s indignant at his indignation. “Cole is perfect,” she snaps. “If being a spirit makes him happy, I want him exactly as he is. I just want to understand.” 

His face clears. She constantly surprises him, throws him off balance, pulls him deeper into her depths. _Ar lath ma,_ he thinks. But if he’s in love, why isn’t he happy?

He takes her hand, pulls her close. “ _You_ are perfect,” he whispers. 

His hand on her neck. Her fingers grip his tunic. “ _You_ are arrogant and bossy,” she replies. 

He laughs, and I drift closer; it’s strange that mirth can be so mournful. “A lifetime of habit,” he says. “Forgive me.” 

_One lifetime, one thousand… forgive me, vhenan._

“It’ll be all right,” I whisper. I think she’ll forgive him, because she loves him. 

I wonder if she knows it yet.

***************

I drift between them, dual daggers of despair. I can’t decide. Who can I help? 

Elia jogs ahead. Her thoughts are blunt and hard. _Hunt down these last damn shards. Then we can get into that forbidden temple… At least I’ll have answers for something._

She thinks about our task, but Solas thinks about _her_. I look at him. “‘Stop. You’re perfect exactly as you are.’ But then you turned away. Why?”

“I had no choice,” he says quietly.

I don’t understand. Regret rages, roiling through his chest. He’s causing this pain, he’s hurting them both, but it doesn’t have to be this way. “She feels her face, marked, marred without malice. She didn’t know. She thinks it’s why you walked away.”

He glares at me. He calls himself pride, but suddenly he is rage. “You cannot heal this, Cole. Let her carry her anger in peace.”

Elia stops and turns to stare, daggers of despair aimed in his direction. “Perhaps Cole can get a better answer from you than I did.” 

Perhaps if she understands, the pain will be less. Perhaps Solas is wrong; perhaps I _can_ help. “He hurts, an old pain from before, when everything sang the same,” I explain. “You’re real, and it means everyone could be real. It changes everything, but it can’t. They sleep, masked in a mirror, hiding, hurting, and to wake them-” It’s gone. I’m falling. I snap back. Where did it go?

“I apologize, Cole. That is not a pain you can heal.” His tone is gentle, but his eyes are hard. Have I done something wrong? What pain does he mean? Why can’t I help? And why is Elia angry? 

She glares at Solas. Rage and love, sorrow and fury, a miasma of memory and misery wound tight until it’s fit to crack. “Leave Cole alone,” she yells. “He’s only trying to help. Don’t touch his mind!” 

Solas frowns. “I am helping Cole. It will only disturb him if he cannot heal this. It is best for him to forget.”

What have I forgotten?

Elia screams at him, rage running rampant through her heart. “It’s not up to you to decide what’s best to forget! We don’t just stop thinking or- or feeling because _you_ say so!” 

“That’s enough!” Cassandra snaps. _Maker have mercy,_ she thinks. “This is not the time. Inquisitor, please lead the way.” 

Shame quenches Elia’s rage. She feels crippled, crushed, but she won’t be cowed. She stands tall to counter it. “Of course. Thank you, Cassandra,” she says. She turns away, and we follow.

I wonder what’s happened. I drift between Elia and Solas, dual daggers of despair. I can’t decide. Who can I help? 

I wonder what I forgot.

*******************

Joy burbles and bounces, rising long and lifting. The hold reaches into the sky, pulling me to land with shouts and shanties, cheers and clamouring and Corypheus gone. 

I walk the grounds in silence. I’m happy to listen. Feelings, memories, minds and mortality: they’re especially bright tonight. I polish them, take the bitter edges and shave them smooth. 

_I can’t believe he just left. How could he just disappear?_ Elia’s thoughts are louder than her footsteps. She thinks of soft eyes and softer lips, arrogance and tenderness. She hates him, but hate is just a sharper edge of love. 

Heavy eyes weigh down her smile. “Cole. Enjoying a midnight stroll?”

My mouth opens. “I’m sorry, Cole, but with your gift, I fear you might see the path I now must walk in solitude forever. This fate is mine alone, and I would not wish it on an enemy, much less someone that I once cared for. Though you reach out in compassion, I must now insist that you _forget._ ” 

“Wh-what?” she says. She is pale, her voice faint. Her face is like blood seeping from a soiled bandage.

“What’s wrong?” I ask. She stares at me like I’m a demon, but that can’t be; nobody can make me into a monster. This I know for certain. The amulet pulses, cool and confident as a wolf’s glowing eyes.

She stumbles, then turns away. “I… can’t do this.” She walks away, then runs.

_It hurts. I can’t breathe around this. How could he do this to me? How could he do this to Cole? He took something from Cole, he… he took something from me… how dare he?_

She bears an inflamed wound in her center, and I follow its call. She speaks to everyone, smiles and nods and laughs, but I can’t hear her words above the hurt. 

_Gone. Just… gone. Like he didn’t exist. Like nothing we had existed. All he really wanted was that Orb. So what was I, just an amusing diversion, someone to fuck and fling aside? That’s all I was, wasn’t I?_

She goes to her quarters, and I drift along behind; it’s crippling, pressing on her back and on her throat, and she can’t hold it up anymore. She collapses on the couch.

I stand beside her, watching, waiting. I can help. 

I reach out. Her eyes open. Tears trickle down, trailing rivers on her cheeks. “No,” she whispers. 

I stop, but I don’t understand. “I can help. I don’t steal the pain. I just make it easier. You’ll never know I was here.”

She smiles. “You’re my friend, Cole. I always know when you’re here. I just… don’t want to forget this yet. If it hurts, that means it was real.” She sobs and covers her face. “Just sit with me awhile? Please?”

Her voice is like the mark on her hand, heavy and drowning, polishing my purpose to a sheen. So I sit. I place my hands in my lap; I don’t know what else to do with them. Is this what friends do? “All right.” 

She smiles. Shadows shiver over shining tears, but the pain is a little bit duller, like an ax hitting granite. “Thank you,” she whispers.

I wait until she falls asleep; the cries are calmer in her dreams. Then I leave.

I helped.

*********************

Injured soldiers live or die. Many stay, and some go home. Healers, merchants, researchers and herbalists, mages and templars: they all have a purpose, places to be and people to help, and so do I. 

I follow Elia. I hear her memories, her feelings and impressions, opinions and thoughts. I am stronger, spirit made substance, purpose made palpable. But she won’t let me help her. 

We travel. We carry food and clothes and medicines, and we kill dragons so they won’t hurt anyone anymore. She invites me along, and I am happy to help, but I want to help _her_ , and she won’t let me. 

Cassandra frowns at me. Her thoughts are clear in the creases of her eyebrows. _He might not be a demon, but he’s not good for her. He’s too detached. He doesn’t understand._ “Inquisitor, shall we… speak in private?”

“Why?” Elia asks. 

Cassandra wrings her hands the way she did when Varric brought her that new book. “It’s just that… Cole is right behind you. All the time. Do you not wish to be alone?”

“No, it’s all right,” Elia says. “He goes everywhere with me now. That’s how tragic I am. No offense, Cole.” She smiles, and Cassandra’s frown deepens. 

I don’t understand. “Why would I be offended?” 

Elia laughs, and she sounds like Solas: mirth mired in melancholy. 

We go to the rotunda. She stares at the walls like she does every day. “I should have known,” she tells me, like she does every day. “It’s painted right there on the wall. The blade he shoved through my chest.” 

It’s a dark figure, faceless, dagger in hand. It doesn’t look very much like Solas. “Maybe that’s me,” I suggest. “I like daggers.” 

She smiles, but the smile is wrong, discordant and dull. “You might be an assassin, but you wouldn’t do what he did,” she says. “That’s inconsistent with your purpose.” Her laugh is acrid, acerbic, laced with acid.

“My purpose is to help,” I agree. And I _can_ help. Her pain is poisonous, sinister and sickening, stealing her sweetness. Why won’t she let me help?

She shakes her head, like she does every day. “You _are_ helping. Being here is helping.”

I don’t think I believe her.

*****************

Sun slants through the balcony, blazing bright. Josephine is expecting her soon, but she lies in bed. Her eyes are dry, but misery sits in the hollows of her cheeks. 

I sit beside her, waiting, watching. She doesn’t talk much anymore, so I listen. 

_I can’t do this. I can’t function like this. I can’t walk with this. I can’t…_

Elia turns her head and looks at me. “Cole,” she croaks. “Help me.”

Her thoughts are hammers, drumming fast and hard. _Help me forget. I need to forget this happened. I need him to be gone. Please, just make me forget._

I place my hand on her forehead, but I hesitate; a memory hovers there, so I remind her. “She’s troubled. She wants him to be himself, to be safe and happy, but she didn’t know it would lead to this. She looks at him. ‘I don’t want you to forget the parts of your past that are important.’” 

Her throat makes a sound like dried creek cracking, and I stand. “I’ll get the others.” 

Dorian is in the main hall. He can help. “Pride saves her life, then leaves her empty,” I tell him. “The glow remains, but the fire is gone. ‘Make me forget,’ she pleads, but I can’t.” 

He scowls. “No indeed, you can’t,” he snaps. “Bring Cassandra. And Varric, for comic relief.” He runs to Elia’s quarters. Dorian is fire and blood and death, but he’s kindness and caring too, so I do what he says. 

I ask Cassandra and Varric to come. Then I return.

Dorian sits on the bed. He lifts Elia in his arms. "Oh come now, Inquisitor, don’t ruin your face with tears. There was only ever enough room in this castle for one arrogant mage with impeccable cheekbones, and I’m afraid that spot is filled by me. That reminds me, we should consider moving Madame de Fer into the stables…”

Elia makes a noise that sounds like a sob but feels like a laugh. Cassandra and Varric arrive, and Cassandra hurries to the bed. 

Varric nods at me. “You’ve done a good thing, kid.” He joins the others. 

Water falling on her face like the waterfall where he left her. The wound is open now, but it can breathe. It escapes with every exhale, smaller now, soft like fennec fur.

They help the hurt to heal. 

I leave. There are others I can help instead.

A wave of laughter rises like high tide. Lifted above it, I hear her thought. _Thank you, Cole._

She’s harrowed still, but now the hurt harmonizes with hope. 

Perhaps I helped after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Come cry in Solavellan Hell with me [on Tumblr!](https://pikapeppa.tumblr.com/) TT^TT


End file.
